Neverwhere
by RoaringMice
Summary: Sheppard has a headache. He finds it a maddening experience.
1. Chapter 1

_  
**Warnings**: None  
**Author's Notes: **This is based loosely on the book "Neverwhere", by Neil Gaiman. I'd done a similar treatment of another fandom years ago, and have been looking for an excuse to do this in SGA. The LiteralSGA challenge gave me that excuse!_

x-x

Teyla's laugh rang out over the group, and Sheppard couldn't help but smile. There she was, weapon strapped across her chest, a weapon more powerful than these people had ever seen, and what were the locals paying attention to? Her smile. Despite the fact that she, and the rest of his team, was, as usual, armed to the teeth, she had a way of putting people at ease that he envied. Of course, it probably helped that the people here seemed genuinely nice. It was a welcome change from most of their most recent missions, during at least half of which he'd either been shot, or been shot at, or had ended up firing his own weapon. It'd got bad enough he was tight and twitchy even off duty, just like he'd been back in Afghanistan. So the two days they'd spent here had been like a breath of fresh air. Not only had they not been shot at, they'd actually, and apparently genuinely, been welcomed.

He'd split the team earlier in the day – he and Rodney looking through old records on the technologies that had once been used on this planet, and Teyla and Ford talking trade opportunities. He hoped they'd had more success than Rodney – not only were the records in a form of the Ancient language that made them difficult to translate, but in the end it seemed they'd been about agricultural tech, rather than anything that could help them either with their efforts against the Wraith or to get back to Earth. Still, the people here were pleasant enough, and nothing had either attacked them or forced them to attack it, so all in all, he called the day a success. And based on the meals they'd been served since they'd been here, he was actually looking forward to this dinner. In fact – he took a deep breath in, and his stomach grumbled – yup, swear to God, the scent wafting toward him smelled just like roast beef. Almost.

The whole mission had been kind of like that – a combination of the familiar with the unfamiliar. Like the fir trees they were passing now – totally like those in the Pacific Northwest. And the tall flowers along the path. They looked kind of like those big orange day lilies his ex-wife used to plant, but their smell was completely different. He took a deep breath in, enjoying the sweet, slightly spicy odors. He reached out a hand and touched one of the blossoms, surprised to find it soft, almost velvety. Then he sneezed.

Ford, walking beside Teyla, shot back, "Bless you."

One of the Advarian guides assigned to their group frowned in his direction. "Are you all right, Major?"

"Sorry, yes," Sheppard replied, smiling slightly.

The guide nodded solemnly and turned to Ford. "And what is the meaning of, 'Bless' in this instance?"

As Ford launched into an explanation of sneezing and its customary responses, Sheppard rubbed the back of his neck, allowing himself to fall slightly behind the rest of the group. He'd had a headache since this morning, and it seemed like something down here might be making it worse.

Actually, now that he was thinking about it, he'd had a headache off-and-on for the past few days, even prior to their arrival here on Adva. It had just been at such a low level that he hadn't really paid it all that much attention. Until now. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The pain was building to the point of annoyance; and he was down here with neither an analgesic nor an antihistamine. Good job, he thought sarcastically. Maybe Rodney had something – the man was virtually a walking pharmacy.

He was just about to call out when he thought he saw a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision - ahead, near a structure that they were approaching. When he looked straight at it, though, there was nothing, the front of the building well illuminated by the garden lights.

Oh, great, he thought. Visual disturbances. Maybe he was working up to a migraine. He'd had a couple of those recently, and he really, really wasn't looking forward to another one. Carson had told him that if he could take a couple of Ibuprofin when the symptoms started, it might stave off the worst of it. He sighed aloud, and Rodney glanced in his direction. He waved the man back toward him.

"You got any Ibuprofin?" he asked when Rodney reached his side.

"Yeah," Rodney said, patting various pockets. He fished a small white packet from one of them, handing it over to Sheppard. "Are you all right?"

"Just a headache," Sheppard said, opening the pack and swallowing the pills dry. "Thanks." He smiled to show that all was well, then looked ahead of Rodney to the rest of the party. Teyla was just ahead, speaking with the region's leaders; followed by the mess of the planetary counsel, their security, and Ford.

Sheppard took a moment to observe the Advarians. So far, they'd been an interesting enough people, totally human, best he could tell; albeit slightly taller than most people he knew back on Earth. Compared to the man she was walking beside, Teyla looked to be at least a good foot and a half shorter. And that man seemed to be about the average height for males here.

Sheppard stopped a moment to roll an errant sleeve up another twist. All of the Atlantis personnel here on Adva had been given ceremonial clothes for this reception. His, a dark grey shirt and black pants, were surprisingly comfortable, if a bit big, obviously having been made to fit Advarians. He looked ahead to where Teyla was speaking with the others. She'd been given a dress that actually, with a lot of cinching and a couple of artful knots, ended up looking really nice on her. Maybe he'd ask her to help him fix up his own outfit later on. Sheppard sneezed again and, lacking another option, stopped and rubbed his nose surreptitiously against his sleeve. Then he took several quick steps to catch Teyla and those ahead of him.

As Sheppard approached, he saw Rodney point an old building out to the guide. The tiny building was actually really beautiful, set back from the path, almost hidden by low hanging branches, its façade covered in a series of sensuous carvings. It was obvious that it hadn't been used in decades: the arched windows were boarded up, and there was only a blank, crumbling opening where the door may once have been. He caught up to the pair, catching the guide in mid-explanation.

"…ghost tunnels connecting from this building," the guide said, laughing slightly. "I've heard rumours of phantom stations underground, the remnants of an old transport system that no longer exists, but can sometimes be seen. Some even say that there are still people down there, spectres that can only occasionally be glimpsed, and then only if you know how to look."

"Sounds like some of the ghost stories we tell back home," Ford said.

As the guide began asking Ford questions, Rodney seemed to purposefully slow his steps. He nodded toward the scanner he'd half-hid in his sleeve, and Sheppard matched pace. "I'd really like to see the inside of that building," Rodney said, nodding in its direction as they began to walk past it.

"You getting something?" Sheppard asked, indicating the device.

"I'm not sure," Rodney said, face drawn in concentration. "Maybe. Or maybe not." He tapped the surface of the device, as if that would somehow help.

"Maybe later," Sheppard replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose again, his headache now a constant, dull pain.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, his concern clear in his eyes.

"Yes," said Sheppard. When he saw Rodney's disbelieving expression, he smiled slightly. "Just waiting for the pills to kick in." Rodney gave him a sharp nod, then moved to catch up with the rest.

Sheppard hung back. While others might think that Rodney had just been intentionally rude, he knew better. The man came across rough, and often was, but since they'd got to actually know each other over the past few months, more and more often Rodney would show sparks of, well… "humanity" was the best Sheppard could come up with in terms of description.

Sheppard saw movement near the building again, so he turned fully in that direction, watching the scene carefully, his eyes panning from one side of the structure to the other. Nothing. Just as he was about to give up, his eyes slid across the door, and he froze. There was a black haired young woman there, Advarian, dressed in old clothing, torn and filthy. Their gazes locked. Her eyes widening in shock, she quickly stepped back through the doorway into the building.

Without even thinking about it, Sheppard took several quick, cautious steps in her direction, one hand to his weapon. As he approached the door, she stepped out again.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, her dark eyes moving past him to take in the group on the path. "You need to go back to your group." She reached out and gave him a gentle push on the chest, surprising the hell out of him.

Sheppard felt a strong hand on his arm, and opened his eyes to see Rodney's worried face. Heart beating madly, Sheppard looked around him in sudden panic – he was back on the path. He looked over toward the building – there was no one there. He heard Rodney say something, but he didn't catch it in his confusion.

Rodney shook his arm. "What's wrong?" he asked, now looking alarmed.

"I was just over there," Sheppard said, pointing to the building.

Rodney looked back toward the building, then to Sheppard. "You've been here the whole time." He looked carefully at Sheppard. "You kind of zoned out there for a minute."

"No, I was…" His eyes roved the path, the building. "I saw…"

"You've been here the whole time," Rodney repeated slowly, a frown creasing his forehead.

Sheppard tried to pull himself together, to figure out what had just happened. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You should go back through the 'gate, have Carson take a look at you."

Sheppard gave Rodney a false smile. "No, I'll be fine."

"What?" Rodney snapped. "Are you kidding? No," he replied in a firm voice. "Something's definitely wrong. You're going back." As Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, Rodney interrupted. "You're sick or something. You don't look so good, you have a headache, and," he dropped his voice to a near whisper, "To be honest, I think you might be seeing things, which, you know…" He waved a finger in circles near his temple. "Not good."

"Rodney," Sheppard got out. "I'm not…"

"If you want me to contact Carson and have him make you go back, I will," Rodney said uncomfortably.

Sheppard, tense enough to be nearly at parade rest, stared at the other man. Realising that he really had no choice, he nodded.

Rodney said, "Let's go tell Teyla."

"Fine," Sheppard said brusquely, following Rodney as they entered the building where the reception was to be held. Rodney was right, he knew he was; didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Just inside the door, they passed through the swirl and fuss of security, a member of which actually checked Sheppard's hand weapon, although they doubtless had no idea of how it worked. They collected it, as the guide had explained they would, locking it in a cabinet and giving him, of all things, a claim ticket. Sheppard couldn't help but chuckle at that one. At least they ran a tight ship, the Advarians, he thought as he stepped past the final guard, Rodney directly in front of him. As they entered the large, well-appointed foyer, he tapped Rodney on the shoulder. "I'm just going to find the bathroom," he said.

Rodney looked at him vaguely, then nodded.

Sheppard stepped up to the guide they'd been speaking with earlier. "Can you tell me where the bathroom is?" he asked. The guide simply stood there, staring straight ahead of him. Sheppard touched his arm and the man turned to him, surprised.

"Sorry, sir. Can I help you?"

Sheppard spied the room in question over the guide's shoulder and, making his apologies, stepped away and entered. After making use of the facilities, he stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. He did look tired, he thought. He rubbed the back of his neck. The headache was still there, and seeing things? Could be he had a fever, although he didn't feel like he did, and more than that, he was sure that woman had been there, he knew it; or thought he did. He grimaced. He didn't think that he'd been hallucinating. Not that he'd know. He splashed some of the cool water on his face, trying to get hold of himself.

Leaving the room, he peered through the small crowd, then, seeing Rodney talking to Teyla and Ford, stepped to his side. When Rodney didn't acknowledge him, he tapped his arm. "Rodney."

Rodney turned to him. He blinked, as if he was trying to focus. Then a stiff smile came across his face. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"What?" Sheppard asked, brows flying up to his hairline.

Before Rodney could reply, one of the security guards approached them. "Sir, may I see some identification?" he asked, pulling Sheppard slightly away from the crowd.

Sheppard looked frantically from the guard, to Rodney, then to Ford. They were staring at him like they didn't know him. Another guard stepped to them, and started to lead his team away.

"Wait," he said sharply.

The first guard asked him, "How'd you get past security?"

"I'm supposed to be here, I'm with them" he said, his voice strained. Something was really, really wrong here. He looked to Rodney and saw his friend watching him warily. Raising his voice, he directed his question to Rodney, "Is this some sort of joke?" He watched in amazement as a guard said something to Teyla, and his team turned away.

"Listen," Sheppard said to the guard. "I'm with them." When the guard didn't respond, he continued. "I'm supposed to be here."

The guard squinted at him, as if trying to see him more clearly. Then he blinked, and said, "I'm sorry, sir. Can I help you?"

Sheppard's breath caught in his throat. He watched as the guard turned away, seeming to forget about him entirely. Sheppard backed away, staring around him as he moved. He bumped into someone and turned with a quick, "Sorry," only to see the guide from earlier peering at him intently.

"Sir, this is a private party. Are you supposed to be here?"

"We've met," Sheppard said, his voice shaking slightly.

The guide looked at him sharply. "I think not, sir," he said, then turned and waved to a security guard.

Sheppard closed his eyes for a second, hands clenching into fists. This can't be happening. Whatever "this" was, it could not be happening.

As the guard approached, Sheppard brushed past the man and headed for the door. By the time he reached the steps, he was practically running, looking for a place where he could take a second and get his bearings. Sprinting across the grass, he saw the building where the woman had been, and darted inside.

He leaned back against the cool, damp wall, and stared into the darkened interior, trying to catch his breath as his eyes adjusted. He heard something in the darkness, to his right, and turned in that direction. She was there, framed by the light coming in from the doorway. He pushed away from the wall, his hand automatically moving toward his weapon before he remembered that it wasn't there.

"I'm sorry," she said. She took a step towards him. "When I realised that you could see me, I thought…" She paused, and frowned. "I figured I'd best wait, just in case."

"Who are you?" he asked, moving from fear to anger. "What's going on?"

"You're no one to them," she said sadly.

"What do you…?" He blinked frantically, breath catching, chest tight. "What?"

She took another step forward, and he held up a hand, holding her off.

"It happens, sometimes, when people can see," she said, keeping her distance.

"See what?" Sheppard asked.

The woman's lip quirked upwards, but that's as far as the smile went. "See me, or others like me," she said. "That's why I tried to, earlier…" She shook her head. "I was hoping, but it was already too late."

Sheppard took a breath. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're no one to them," she repeated emphatically. "And we don't have time to discuss this. We really should –"

"I'm not going anywhere," Sheppard said firmly, arms crossed.

"It's not safe," the woman said, eyes roaming to the door before they settled on him again. "We need to go."

"You said we're no one to them, so what's it matter if –?"

"You don't get it," she bit out. "It's not them."

"All right," Sheppard rubbed his forehead in frustration. "But I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell happened back there."

"Fine, fine!" she threw up her hands and began pacing the small space. "I don't know why it happens, or how, or why you," she said, twisting the last word and pointing at him in punctuation. She spoke quickly, obviously wanting to spend as little time on this, or here, as possible. "All of a sudden, people you knew, even your family - they'll see you in the street and walk right past you." She laughed, but it wasn't a joyful sound. "If you grab them, force them, then they'll see you, but it doesn't matter, because they don't know you. It's like you've become a ghost."

"But…" What she'd said could not be real. It could not be. And yet, it was exactly what had happened to him at the reception. People hadn't even seen him; and those that had seen him hadn't known him. Not even his team. Not even his friends. He inhaled a shaky breath.

She stopped walking. "I'm sorry," she said again, seeming to mean it.

He shook his head. "How?" he asked, his voice trailing away as his anger dissipated.

"I'm not sure how it works."

"This is not possible," he said, looking around the dark space. "I don't belong here."

"I know," she said, seeming to agree with him. "None of us did, when it happened to us."

"What about – " He pierced her with his gaze. "You know about the Stargate, right?" She nodded, dark hair tumbling forward, and he went on. "What if I went back home, would…?" He let the rest trail off when he saw the look on her face.

"The 'gate wouldn't even work for you," she said quietly.

Sheppard nodded slowly, remembering the scene in the building, the guide, and Rodney. Despite himself, he believed what she was saying. He turned away from her.

Her footsteps came close, and he heard her soft whisper from behind him. "I'm sorry."

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on," she said. "I know a place where you can stay for the night."

x-x

Sheppard followed the woman – Malla, her name was – as she led him to the back of the building and through a low opening in the wall. He bent to enter, then stood in a small space at the top of a series of utilitarian stone steps. She switched on a small light and began her descent, her light bouncing from the smooth grey walls, and he followed her down, his footfalls echoing in the tight space.

Reaching the bottom, he stepped through an archway, shivering against the sudden damp and cold. He stood there and took in his surroundings in the dim light coming in through the overhead windows. He let out a soft gasp when he realised the size of the place.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she said. "And people don't even realise it's here."

Sheppard shook his head in amazement. The space was enormous, at least the size of Grand Central in New York. The cavernous room was fairly dark, the long, narrow windows along the walls letting in what little of the moonlight they could. How could he have not seen this building from above? It must be mostly underground; or maybe it was like him, and couldn't be seen, or wasn't.

Malla's torch illuminated the area just around them, bouncing off the nearest walls, fading into the ceiling high above. He could see that the walls were dripping with phosphorescent, water and other substances leaching out of the seams between the masonry blocks and setting up a faint glow.

Malla started walking towards a dark, arched opening in a nearby wall. "We shouldn't stay here," she shot back over her shoulder. "It's not always safe."

Sheppard strode to her side. "Why?"

"Monsters," she replied in an eerie tone, her voice echoing in the empty room. Then, seeing his face, she became serious, saying, "Most down here are good people, but there are some who aren't, and some who aren't well. It's better not to be alone." With that, she stepped into the tunnel.

He entered behind her, his foot immediately splashing into a puddle on the floor, soaking his boot. He could hear dripping, smell the overwhelming damp as he entered the space, and the temperature plunged. He shivered and tucked his hands up under the sleeves of his tunic. The clothing they'd given him for the banquet obviously wasn't designed for such a damp, cold environment.

"Where are we going?" he asked, stopping a brief moment and shaking his wet foot.

Malla kept moving, but turned to face him, walking backwards. "To a place that's safe, where there are others like us." She gave him a wry smile. "We tend to find each other, and it's better, we can –" She stopped. "We band together, help each other, defend ourselves if we have to."

She turned, and they both began walking again. She led him up another staircase, this one metal and slick with moisture. At the top, she opened a dark, heavy door, and there was a sudden rush of warmth, light and voices. They stepped up onto what must have once been a transit platform, the tile walls now covered in graffiti. There was a small fire blazing in the middle of the space, a dozen or so Advarians gathered around it, all dressed similarly to Malla, their clothing showing signs of long wear.

As they entered, the voices stopped. Sheppard felt eyes on him as Malla said, "He's okay. I found him upstairs." Then, voice flat, she stated, "He's new."

Several in the crowd nodded, and one man stepped forward, handing him a mug with a quietly murmured, "Here you go."

Sheppard nodded, accepting the offering and cradling the warm cup between his cold hands. Setting caution aside, he took a sip of the drink, trying to bring some of its warmth inside his chilled body. It wasn't bad, kind of weak, maybe some sort of soup, he thought.

Malla, beside him, said, "I'll introduce you around in the morning, get you set up now."

Knowing that she probably wanted to talk about him with the others, he agreed. She led him to the back of the room, where small spaces had been formed with fabric, cardboard, and plastic sheeting, creating tiny warrens with some semblance of privacy. She showed him to one small space, pulling back a sheet to show that it had already been laid out with linen, none too clean. "We might have some food tomorrow," she said with a shrug.

He frowned at her. "Why don't you just take it?" At her expectantly raised brow, he went on. "I mean, if they don't see you anyway, why don't you take what you need?"

The edge of her lip quirked upwards. "Doesn't quite work that way. We could take it, but it wouldn't…" She sighed. "Its like with the 'gate. Doesn't work for us. Food's the same way. Can't just take it. It has to come here, just like you came here."

Not feeling any the wiser, Sheppard stared at her.

She tugged the sheet. "Anyway, this is yours for as long as you'd like it."

"Thanks," he replied, at a loss.

Quickly, she pointed out the facilities, then moved off. He settled himself on top of the fabric that was to be his bed, which surprisingly smelled better than it looked, and drew the curtain, cutting off the stares of the others from across the room. He needed some time alone, to think through everything that had happened tonight.

He noticed a tiny shard tucked into the back corner of the shelter – a mirror, or something quite like it. He flopped onto his stomach and, reaching out, pulled the mirror closer. Staring into the glass, he moved it around until he could see most of his face: same dark hair, same hazel eyes - same John Sheppard. Tucking the mirror back into its nook, he finished the drink, then rolled onto his back. He pulled several of the rags and coverings across him, shivering slightly. Despite the fire out front, the room was still damp, the fire too small and far away, and the blankets in the shelter weren't quite enough for warmth.

Tomorrow, he'd figure this out. Tomorrow, he'd find a way home. But tonight? Tonight he was too overwhelmed and tired to think. He stared up at the grimy fabric that made up his roof, and allowed his mind to drift, his eyes tracing patterns across the fabric as he thought about what had happened to him, and how he might get his life back.

x-x

_Please comment and let me know what you think of this so far. Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the lovely reviews. Here's the next section:_

x-x

Sheppard woke in the morning, stiff from lying on the hard floor. He stretched cautiously, throwing off the blankets, and left his shelter, moving toward the facilities. When he was done, he saw Malla at the fire, eating, and he approached her, nodding to others as he passed them.

"Want some?" Malla asked as he sat beside her, lifting her plate in his direction.

"No, thank you," he said, too tense to eat, and, at the same time, not wanting to take the last of her meal.

"You should." She shook the plate slightly. "We don't always have much. You should eat while we have it."

Accepting her offering, he took a bite, then asked, "All the people down here are Altarian?"

She nodded. "Now, but in the past, there someone else who'd come through the 'gate."

"What happened to him?"

"He, well, he got sick, and he died." She grimaced. "You're using his shelter."

"Oh," was all he could think to say. Taking a few more bites, he handed the plate back to her so she could share the meal. "Anyone ever make it back to their former lives?" he asked.

She shot him a sharp look. "Not successfully."

Eager, he leaned toward her. "So people have tried."

She laughed bitterly, setting the now-empty plate aside. "All the time. Of course they do. But doesn't exactly work out for them."

"In what way?"

"Well, just showing up obviously won't work," she said with sarcasm. "As you've probably seen for yourself. They either don't notice you, or don't recognise you."

"So, what have people done?"

Malla frowned. "There are ways to connect, to re-enter, but it's not a good way to go."

"Why not?" Sheppard asked, feeling a spark of hope despite her obvious pessimism.

"It doesn't work out," she said. "Life up there's changed; you've changed. You can't just go back and fit in comfortably." She looked around the room, her eyes resting on several people. "Others have tried." She shook her head. "They came back."

He frowned at that. "Not much can have changed yet," he said. "It's only been a day."

"Time doesn't flow quite..." she let her voice fall off, and shrugged.

"Have you ever tried, yourself?"

She gave him a slight smile. "Life up there was not that great for me. I have nothing to go back to, really."

He nodded in understanding. "I want to try," he said.

Hesitantly, Malla said, "You want to be really sure about this, because going back – it's not easy. You're not going to just step back into your old life." At his nod, she leaned forward. "There's a way to sort of ping the outside world," she said, touching her index fingers together briefly. "To make a connection, which sometimes allows you to go back. It doesn't always work." She gazed at him, intense. "You need to know that this won't necessarily be pleasant. Once you get back up there, if it even works, your life won't be the same."

Sheppard nodded, thinking of Atlantis, and the friends he'd made there. It had taken him so long to get comfortable, to feel like he fit there. He wasn't willing to give that up without a fight. Whatever risk there was, it would be worth it, if he could go home again.

"All right," she said. She started patting her jacket until, reaching into one pocket, she tugged out a pen. "You have any paper?" she asked.

"No, they pretty much…" Sheppard remembered the claim ticket he'd gotten when he'd checked his weapon, and he pulled out the small tag. "Here," he said, handing it to her.

Head down, using her knee as a desk, she scrawled a series of tiny symbols on the ticket. Handing it back to him, she pierced him with her gaze and said, "In case you need to come back." Without waiting for his response, she stood and approached a man across the room, exchanging a few words. Sheppard watched as the man nodded, peered at him, then approached.

"I'm Rodos. Come with me," he said gruffly, leading Sheppard into one of the slightly larger shelters. As Rodos closed the fabric at the opening, making a small, private room, he waved for Sheppard to sit. Rodos joined him, facing him, their knees touching in the cramped space.

"Don't speak," Rodos said. "Just try to focus on your breathing, keeping it as even as you can."

He took one of Sheppard's hands in one of his own and turned it, palm up. With his other hand, he reached to his side and opened a small, dark box. Withdrawing a tiny cake, he rubbed one finger across its top, then rubbed that finger in a small circle on Sheppard's palm, leaving a trace of blue.

Sheppard felt the substance cool his hand, and took in the scent – almost rosemary, but earthier. Then his hand became numb, and he flinched. The man grasped his hand more firmly, casting him a sharp look.

After a moment, Sheppard felt a kind of lethargy overcome him, but he found that he didn't care. His arms became heavy, and his head fell forward. He gazed down at his palm, then took a deep breath. He looked up at the man and blinked languidly.

Rodos pulled a tiny knife out from the box and pricked Sheppard's palm in the middle of the blue, allowing a bit of blood to well. He then used his fingers to mix that blood into the blue salve, and Sheppard felt a slow heat begin to build in the middle of his palm. The man started chanting, and reached his free hand to the box, removing a small bag. He took out a pinch of black powder. Breaking from his chant, he said, "Breathe in."

Sheppard did so, and the man blew the powder in his face. Sheppard felt it burn his nose as it entered. Then the shelter spun around him.

x-x

Sheppard rolled over onto his side, pushing away the blankets. His entire body aching, he slowly brought himself to sitting. He swayed slightly and exhaled loudly, realising that he was back in his own shelter, and he had no idea how he'd gotten there, or how much time had passed. The tiny claim ticket was beside him on the blanket, and he picked it up with fumbling fingers, tucking it into a pocket.

Rodos poked his head through the curtained door. "You all right?" he asked. At Sheppard's answering nod, he said, "Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't. It may take a while, or you may know soon." He gave Sheppard an odd smile. "Good luck." He let the curtain close.

x-x

As Sheppard walked up the near-deserted street, he luxuriated in the feel of the warm sun that had pierced through the dark clouds. It was the first time he'd been really, truly warm since he'd gone underground with Malla the day before, and the sense of warmth, plus his hope that Rodos' strange "connection" had worked, had served to brighten his mood considerably. He certainly felt better than he had just after Rodos' odd ceremony. Best to enjoy the sunlight now; he could smell rain in the air, and knew the weather was about to change.

Thinking back on the ceremony, he realised that he'd been drugged. Maybe he should be worried about that, but it wasn't like Rodos had done it maliciously; and he felt fine now, so hopefully no harm, no foul. The fact that Malla, Rodos, and apparently others though that little ceremony would actually help him get back home was weird, but he'd seen stranger things since he'd come to the Pegasus Galaxy. It should be impossible for a bit of shamanism, for some sparkly dust to actually have any impact on his immediate predicament, it hadn't left him any the worse for wear. If anything, it gave him something to pin his hopes to until he could learn more about this place, and figure a way to get back home.

He began to hear noise: voices, music, movement. Malla, walking beside him with some others from the group, said, "We're almost there."

They had come outside to attend a makeshift market, where they were hoping to trade goods and services for things needed. Sheppard was attending for – actually, for no reason, really; for the company, maybe, and the chance to learn more about this place.

As they rounded the corner, he took in the bustle of people, all dressed, like Malla and the others, in old, torn clothing, most pretty dirty looking. He cast a glance down at himself. He was still fairly clean – if he stayed longer, he expected that would change. At this point, all it did was mark him as "new". He decided to be cautious.

Stalls had been set up beside the road, running along both sides of a central, grassy median, and the place was packed with people trading. Some of the stalls seemed to be formal affairs, with tents or cloths strung up over tables, while others were as simple as objects strewn on the ground, a shopkeeper sitting beside them. Despite the activity of the market, the people in the carriages on the road paid them no mind, as if they weren't there at all.

Ah, that's right, thought Sheppard, reminding himself; they probably can't see us. Or don't. Or won't.

As they moved through the market, brushing past fellow shoppers, the sun fell behind the clouds and it began to rain; a slow drizzle that quickly turned to a downpour. Malla lead the group to a grassy area on the median under a small shelter, although action continued around them despite the rainfall. Sheppard sat on a low wall, listening to Malla and the others discuss the things they'd look for, and what they were willing to trade.

"Sheppard!"

Sheppard stilled, listening carefully. He was sure he'd heard someone calling his name.

The shout came again. "Sheppard!"

Rodney's voice, coming from across the street. Sheppard stood, peering over the heads of the crowd, past the vehicular traffic, and stepped away from the shelter, the rain wetting his hair, his shoulders.

He frowned – Rodney wasn't there. Maybe in his hope, he was hearing things. He continued staring in that direction, the rain now soaking him. He heard a soft voice from his side, Malla asking, "What's wrong?"

He turned to her, shaking his head. "I thought I heard…" His voice caught, and he gasped. Malla was gone; the rain, the market, were gone. Instead, he was standing on the empty median in the middle of a road, animal-drawn carriages still rushing by on both sides, but now it was sunny, and the sudden brightness made him squint. His head whipped around, taking in his surroundings, then he looked down at himself. His clothing, which had just been clean, was now filthy. He looked at his hands, also filthy.

Suddenly he felt sick, nauseated, a headache rushing over him. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees on the grass.

He heard a shout, "Sheppard!" and he looked up, dizzy from the sudden movement. He saw Rodney dart across the street towards him, cautious of traffic, but casting worried glances in his direction as he moved.

And Sheppard was standing in the market, the rain dripping down his neck, soaking through his tunic. He looked down at himself in shock, his pulse filling his ears.

And he was on his knees on the grass, Rodney kneeling in front of him, talking to him, his voice low and even. Rodney was looking at him intensely, like he was trying to get his attention. Head pounding, squinting against the too-bright sunlight, Sheppard looked down at himself again. He was ragged, dirty. He looked up again, into Rodney's now-frantic face.

"Where have you been?" Rodney asked. "We've been looking all over for you."

Sheppard shook his head, trying to ward off the confusion. Vehicles were rushing around them, and Rodney was saying…something; he'd lost track. And it was too sunny, and he didn't know where he was, or what…he moved his eyes to the ground, trying to focus, to settle himself. He stared at the grass below him, and sank back on his heels to allow his hand to reach it. He pulled at a few blades, trying to find an anchor, then realised that Rodney was still talking to him, so he looked up. "You didn't recognise me," he said, surprised to hear his voice so raspy.

Rodney had stopped speaking when Sheppard began. Then he replied, seeming confused. "What?"

"At the reception," Sheppard answered.

Rodney knelt down beside him. "That's right," he said, seeming relieved, although at what, Sheppard had no idea. "That's the last place we saw you. When I went through security and turned around for you, you were gone. What happened?"

Sheppard stared at him. "I was there."

"No, no, you weren't," Rodney said. "Where have you been?"

Sheppard shook his head, then winced as the movement worsened his headache. "No, I was there, I...You didn't recognise me."

"Sheppard, I think you're sick," Rodney said carefully, as if he was trying to calm a frightened child.

"Where are the others?" Sheppard asked, trying to see past Rodney. He felt a sudden chill, and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. "I have a headache," he said quietly.

Rodney reached out a hand, and Sheppard looked down to see Malla's hand on his arm. He looked at her, shaking as the rain began to chill him. He shook his head, the pain gone. "I think I'm going crazy."

"Why?" she answered.

"My friend was just here."

Sheppard felt a tug on his arm, raising him to standing, and the pain was back.

"Who are you talking to?" Rodney asked.

Sheppard froze, unable to respond in his fright and confusion.

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, staring into his eyes. "We need to get you to the jumper, back to Atlantis." He gave Sheppard's arm a gentle tug, but Sheppard remained rooted. Then, in a strong voice, Rodney said, "Major, come on."

Sheppard exhaled, suddenly realising that he'd been holding his breath. He stumbled forward, allowing Rodney to guide him. "Something's wrong," he whispered.

They were walking, Rodney casting frightened looks in his direction. He realised that Rodney thought that he'd gone nuts, completely barmy. Fabulous, he thought. Maybe this is what Malla had meant when she'd said that his life wouldn't be the same. Unable to help himself, he grinned. You can go back, but you come back crazy.

Sheppard found himself in the jumper, sitting on the floor in the back, his legs pulled up, arms wrapped around them. He could feel the thrum of the engines through the deck. He was rocking slightly, which he figured was all right, but he realised that he was humming. He tried to place the tune, then laughed, smacking his hand over his mouth to stifle it, but not before Rodney, in the copilot's chair, turned back to him with a sharp look.

"Sorry," Sheppard said from under his hand. Unable to help it, he smiled, then laughed again. He winced against the headache.

Rodney cast a concerned glance at Ford, who was piloting, then to Teyla in the jump seat. She unstrapped herself and squatted in front of Sheppard.

"Realised what I was singing," Sheppard said to her. He hummed, then started the song, his voice showing more enthusiasm than art. "Cures you whisper make no sense, drift gently into mental illness." He looked at Teyla, smiling broadly. "Appropriate, yes?"

She said something.

"Hmm? Sorry?" Sheppard said, disoriented, closing his eyes against the pain. "I keep seeing things," he whispered, not entirely sure if he was referring to Malla, or to Teyla. He was so tired, and his head hurt so much.

"What are you seeing?"

"No one, nothing," he replied, not really able to focus on what Teyla was saying. "I have a headache."

Teyla reached over and, very gently, began to rub the back of Sheppard's neck. Sheppard sank into the touch, drifting. He heard the buzz of the marketplace, and the sounds of falling rain. He found himself sitting on the low wall, under the shelter, completely drenched and staring out at the downpour. Turning to his right, he saw Malla there. He shivered.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Cold, wet," he said. He looked around him, watching people pass in the marketplace, buying things, darting under tents as they tried to keep dry. "I haven't been able to get warm since I got here; rain's not helping."

Rodney's voice came from nearby and Sheppard looked in that direction. His friend was now wearing casual clothes, obviously off-duty, and he was talking to Carson. Teyla was nowhere to be seen. Sheppard blinked against the bright lights, and realised he wasn't on the jumper; he was in the infirmary. On a bed, lying down. Dragging in a tight breath, he clenched the sheet that someone had pulled over him. It's fine, it doesn't matter, he thought, trying to control his building anxiety. I'm in Atlantis, and that has to be good. He remembered Rodney finding him on the planet. He remembered being on the jumper. He remembered.

He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, tamp down his anxiety. As he focused, he heard their voices from across the room. First Carson, almost too quiet to hear, saying something about "hallucinations." Sheppard's eyes snapped open. He saw Rodney and Carson standing near the infirmary doors, and he clearly heard Rodney's response, his friend obviously alarmed.

"You've called in Heightmeyer?"

Carson said, "I'm not sure what to think, Rodney. It's been three days since you found him, and I can't find a physical cause for what's going on. He needs help." The doctor glanced in his direction and, noticing Sheppard staring at them, stopped talking. He directed his next comment to Sheppard. "Good to see you back with us, Major," he said more loudly. "How are you feeling?"

The doctor was looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

"I haven't been able to get warm since I got here," he said quietly. "The rain's not helping."

Someone – Carson, maybe – placed a blanket over his shoulders, and he nodded gratefully, looking down at it. He was in scrubs – when had he undressed? He looked at his hands, now clean – when had he washed? Hell, when had he sat up? How long had he been here? He didn't remember.

He was missing time.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor said again.

"I'm not sure." Looking over Carson's shoulder, he spied Rodney there, his expression one of concern.

"I'd like you to speak with Doctor Heightmeyer –"

"I'm not crazy," Sheppard said, interrupting him in a soft voice. He could feel himself moving, swaying where he sat on the bed. "I'm just, I'm not sure of where I am."

"You're on Atlantis," Rodney said, his voice tight.

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days," Rodney said. "Don't you remember?"

"Time's all weird," Sheppard replied. "Pieces are missing."

Rodney looked nervously at Carson. "You're going to be fine."

"I'm not fine," Sheppard said, his voice rising. "Time's gone wrong, and I'm not sure where I am." He dropped his voice to a tense whisper. "I'm afraid all this," he waved his hand around him, "is in my head."

"It's not," Rodney said quickly.

"How can I know that?" Sheppard replied, his voice cracking. "If this place is real, the other isn't; if that place is real, this one isn't. Which one is real? This place, or the other?"

"Try to calm down," said Carson. "If you become too agitated –"

"Agitated? Wouldn't you be?" Sheppard replied, practically shouting. He tried to catch his breath, to calm himself, but he couldn't, and when he saw Carson come at him, needle in hand, he tore away from the bed, an IV he'd not been aware of tearing loose from his hand in a burst of pain. He took several steps backward, watching as Carson froze in place. Slowly, saying something that he couldn't catch, the doctor put the needle down on a nearby table, holding empty hands palms out. Sheppard looked at Rodney, over Carson's shoulder, and saw the alarm in his friend's eyes. Then he watched his friend speak, his mouth moving, his words having no meaning, and then…

There was the sound of rain, and he felt the water coming down, drenching him.

His back hit the wall.

He watched as Rodney looked to Carson, who nodded, and Rodney began a slow approach toward Sheppard. Once standing in front of him, Rodney began talking again. Sheppard tried to make sense of what he was saying, and finally caught up when Rodney said, "…be all right, no one is here to hurt you."

"This is real," Sheppard said, taking in the room with a jerky motion.

Rodney nodded.

Sheppard squinted toward the windows. "Is it raining?"

"No," Rodney replied.

"So that was there, not here," Sheppard said with a choked laugh. "I'm cold."

Rodney reached a hand to the side, bending down and snagging the blanket that must have dropped there.

"She said it would be hard coming back." Sheppard let himself slide down the wall, then sat, hunched over his knees, head down. "I guess I didn't know what she really meant."

Rodney squatted down in front of him, and he heard Rodney's voice. "You're sick." He held the blanket out. When Sheppard didn't take it, he put it on the floor and slid it toward him, as if afraid that getting any closer would set him off again.

Maybe it would. Sheppard snared the blanket and pulled it over his legs. He looked up at Rodney. "You think I'm hallucinating."

Rodney frowned. "Maybe something like that. Maybe you caught a bug down on the surface, something that triggered all this."

"Hell of a bug," Sheppard said, trying for a smile. "When does Carson think I'll be better?"

Rodney tried for his own smile, but failed. "He's not sure. He's been trying some, some drugs, but…"

"How long have I been back?"

"Three days."

"Right, right. You'd said that." Sheppard wiped a harsh hand across tired eyes, "How long was I gone?"

"About two weeks."

Sheppard sat there, hands clenched in the blanket. Almost three weeks, lost. It didn't seem possible. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "Didn't seem that long. A couple days, maybe."

Rodney shifted and sat in front of him, staring into his eyes. "It's not your fault," he said. "You've, I don't know…" He hesitated. "It is not your fault."

Sheppard shook his head. "It seems so real, when I'm there, or when I was, but now…" he looked away from Rodney, taking in the infirmary around them, Carson still standing cautious vigil nearby. "I'm confused. I'm not sure."

Rodney took his knee and squeezed. "This is real," Rodney said, shaking his leg gently. "I'm real."

Sheppard met his gaze. "I know you're real. I'm just not as sure about the rest of it."

x-x

_Please comment and let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks. _


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning: swearing in this chapter_

x-x

Sheppard paced the length of Heightmeyer's office, his eyes on the windows that lined the room, on the carpet below his feet, on the items on her desk; anywhere but on her. She'd asked him a question, "How are you feeling?" and he couldn't for the life of him figure out the right answer. What did she want to hear? What was the truth? Maybe he was better, sort of. More or less. Kind of. Or at least, he thought he was; not like he'd know. But it had been days since Rodney and the team had dragged him back to Atlantis, and whether it was the time or the drugs Carson had him on, it had been days since he'd had visions or whatever of that other place. Still, he felt on edge, constantly waiting, constantly on watch for the next crazy thing, whatever that'd be. He didn't know if he was sick like Rodney thought, or sick like Heightmeyer usually saw, but one way or the other, one way or the other, one way or the other, he wasn't right.

She'd asked how he was feeling. How was he feeling? Everyone wanted to know how he was feeling. "I'm feeling trapped," he finally said, stopping and staring out the windows at the ocean beyond. He was sick of the infirmary. Sick of… He rubbed his head, then the back of his neck. Sick of not being sure of himself; of not being sure…

"What do you think is wrong with me?" he asked, turning on her.

"I'm not sure," she said, peering up at him from where she sat in her chair.

He slumped into the seat across from her. "What do the symptoms tell you?"

"It could be a lot of things," she said.

"All of them mental?" he asked, tapping his head.

"Some of them." She glanced down at her notes, auburn hair falling across her face. "What do you think it is?"

What did he think it was? He had no idea. "Rodney thinks something on the planet made me sick."

"Do you agree?"

"I'm not sure," he said, "I'd been having headaches before that; migraines. Sometimes those can be leading up to –" He tapped his head again. "You know."

She looked at him in surprise.

"I've kind of been reading up," he said awkwardly. "And Carson's been giving me all of these drugs; some are anti-psychotics. Gotta figure."

"Do you think the drugs are helping?"

He took a moment to think on that one. "Yeah, actually. I'm clearer. No visions, that's good, right?" And it was, wasn't it? So what if his mind was racing a thousand miles an hour. So what if his dreams were fraught with images of where he'd been, and he'd wake up with no idea, no idea of where he was. Still, at least when he was awake, he was clearer, if not right. "Maybe if I take my meds, do what they tell me, I'll get better." And that was really all he wanted. To be better. To be sure of who he was, and where, and what the fuck was going on half the damn time. Rodney had been in earlier, and he hadn't even known what the man was saying. Hadn't even –

"John."

Hadn't even been able to –

"John."

"Yeah," he said, snapping to the present, only then realising his hand hurt. He was standing, fist against the glass of the window. "Yeah", he repeated, standing down. "Yeah," he said, turning and sliding to the floor. "Yeah", he said again, closing his eyes against it all.

x-x

Sheppard was sitting on his bed in the infirmary, staring off into space, thinking, or trying to; his thoughts felt like he was trying to pull them from a vat of molasses, thick and gloopy. Carson's latest drugs were making him feel… odd, but they seemed to be working. He smiled to himself. It had been days since he'd seen Malla, been to that other place. He knew he still wasn't quite… He raked a hand through his hair, searching for a word that fit. He was better, but he wasn't quite right. Heightmeyer said he had to give it more time.

He heard a noise and looked in that direction, seeing nothing that could have caused it. He shifted nervously on the bed. Despite Carson's treatments, he still wasn't feeling that everything was as it should be. He felt slightly over-sensitive to everything around him, and he wasn't always sure of himself, or of what he was seeing.

Sometimes he thought he was hearing rain, or would feel a chill despite the warmth of the infirmary. At times, if he listened hard, he could hear the bustle of the marketplace. He shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts.

He wondered if he was still there. Maybe Malla was still sitting there, next to him, in the rain. Maybe all this was the illusion, and he was still there…

Someone stepped beside his bed and he jumped, half-expecting to see Malla. It was Teyla, so he smiled. Teyla started speaking, and Sheppard stared at his friend, realising that he had no idea what she was saying. Damn it.

Sheppard sighed. It wasn't that unusual. Since he'd gotten back, he'd occasionally have times like this, where he'd have trouble following what was going on, or understanding what people were saying. He calmly watched Teyla as she spoke, and smiled slightly. It was strange what you could get used to. Or maybe that was the drugs, too. It was hard to separate out what was the illness, and what was the drugs, sometimes.

He watched as Teyla settled herself in the chair by his bedside. Even with everything that had happened, he was glad that he'd come back; if for nothing else, than for this: for friends who'd stay at his side even if he'd gone nuts, who'd sit there and hold a conversation with him, even if he didn't have enough sanity left to participate.

Heightmeyer had said he had to give it more time. And he would, he would. Wasn't like he had a choice.

x-x

"You seem… better," Rodney said, sliding a card across the bed toward Sheppard.

"I feel better," Sheppard replied, reaching for the card, then rocking back in the chair to consider his next move. "It's nice to be able to, you know." He looked up to meet Rodney's eyes, and waved his hand toward the cards on the mattress they were using as a table. "A couple weeks ago, I was lucky to be able to hold up my end of a conversation, never mind…"

"The miracle of modern pharmacoepia," Rodney said deadpan. "But yeah, that did kind of suck. I was running out of things I could talk about without needing a response."

Sheppard raised a brow. "You, run out of things to say? I'd have thought you'd welcome the chance to talk without me interrupting."

"You'd think," Rodney said, flicking a card in his direction, but missing by a mile. "Well, it's good to have you back."

"Good to be back." Sheppard used the edge of a card to scratch his cheek. "Hope it holds up," he said, half-joking.

"It will," Rodney said firmly. He put down his cards. "I may talk a good game, you know, with the whole medicine-isn't-a-science thing, but Carson really knows his stuff. And I hate to say it, but so does Heightmeyer. If whatever you're doing with them is working…" He shrugged.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, flicking a card so close to his friend's face that the man had to duck.

x-x

Heightmeyer had asked him how he felt, and for once, he felt pretty confident in his response. "Better," he said, leaning across his knees. "I think the meds are working."

"We'll give them some more time," she said evenly.

Sheppard was disappointed, but tried not to show it. He'd hoped she'd suggest taking him off the drugs, but that was probably too much to ask for. So he tried for the next best thing. "Would it be all right if I stayed in my quarters?" He winced. "I'm sick of being in the infirmary." Although Carson had given him as much privacy as possible, it wasn't like the place was set up for long term stays.

"Do you think you're well enough?"

He knew a loaded question when he heard one, but he gave it his genuine consideration. "Yeah. I mean, it's been a long time since I've, you know, had a hallucination or anything. And I…" He leaned forward. "Don't you think that I can do this?" He knew she probably didn't think he was well enough for his job; not well enough for a lot of stuff, but he wasn't asking for that.

She looked at him carefully. "I'll suggest a compromise. You can stay there, but with some guidelines. Someone stays with you unless you're sleeping," she continued. "We'll see if we can't set up some sort of a schedule. See how it goes."

He tried to smother his smile.

x-x

Sheppard stood at the sink in his lavatory, staring at his reflection in the mirror above it. It was his first day out of the infirmary – Carson had finally released him, with Heightmeyer's recommendation, although he was off-duty for the foreseeable future. Since he'd left the infirmary, he'd been almost constantly accompanied by either a friend or one of Carson's medics. So he wasn't truly free, but it was better, and he was grateful. It wasn't a perfect system – like right now, there was a gap between the last medic and whoever was coming next for dinner. But if he could prove, through all this, that he could handle himself, maybe they'd let up on the drugs. Maybe he could be put back on duty. Maybe, maybe.

Since he'd been back on Atlantis, his visions had stopped. He shook his head. Visions, he thought. He still wasn't sure if that was the best term – they'd seemed real at the time, just as real as being here. But now, looking back, he wasn't as sure.

He stared into his own eyes, taking in his appearance: gaunt, pale, eyes shadowed. He seemed haunted. He splashed water on his face and looked away.

He felt his stomach rumble and glanced at the clock. Dinner in the mess had begun well over an hour ago, and, knowing there would be a gap between one caregiver or supervisor or whatever and the next, he could have just gone down there and grabbed something, but he'd been avoiding it. He had to admit, he was too embarrassed to go out and face everyone, after all this. He wasn't even sure what they knew, what they'd seen; what he'd done, or said, while… He wiped his face with his towel, tossing it back onto the rack. Damn it, he was hungry, but he couldn't walk in there alone. That'd be a bit too much.

His door chimed and he looked at it in surprise. Striding to it, he triggered it open, revealing Rodney there, in uniform. Sheppard glanced down at himself self-consciously. He was in casual clothes, but at least he wasn't in his infirmary garb any longer.

Rodney smiled. "Dinner?"

Sheppard winced. "Yeah, about that."

Rodney dropped his smile. "It'll be okay."

Every time he though he'd figured Rodney out, the man surprised him. Three quarters of the people on base probably thought Rodney had no social skills at all, and yet Rodney had got his meaning without him having to explain. He nodded, trying not to show his hesitancy, and followed Rodney out into the corridor.

Sheppard saw a crewman approaching them from the opposite direction, and was relieved when the man passed them with barely a nod. Sheppard let out a rough breath.

"You okay?" Rodney asked.

"Sorry," Sheppard said. "Nervous."

Rodney nodded. "It must be weird."

"Yes," Sheppard replied, unsure of what to say.

Rodney stopped walking and turned, facing him. "Listen, we don't actually have to do this. We just figured, that, well," He stuttered to a stop. "I can grab some food, meet you in your room instead."

Sheppard shook his head. "No. It's time things went back to normal." He started walking again, and Rodney hustled to reach his side.

"Are you feeling normal, though?"

Sheppard glanced at his friend. "Why?"

"Because you're practically running down this hall."

Sheppard stopped in his tracks, staring at Rodney, who was looking at him expectantly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I am feeling…better. But…"

"Yes?" asked Rodney.

"Not normal, no," Sheppard said. "Blurry, lethargic…"

"From the illness?"

"Or from Carson's treatments – I'm not sure." Sheppard started walking again, this time at a slower pace. "Nervous."

"That's understandable," Rodney said, launching into a story of his first day at school, now nervous he'd been, cutting himself off as they reached the doors to the mess. "Ready?"

Sheppard gave a crisp nod.

Triggering the doors, they entered. Sheppard looked around him – this late in the dinner hour, the place wasn't as crowded as usual, for which he was grateful. Moving to the serving line, he blindly chose the first items in the row, then turned toward the room, heart pounding. From a nearby table, he noticed Ford and Teyla waving him over.

Rodney stepped to his side. "You okay?"

Sheppard gave him a tight nod.

"Breathe, Major," Rodney said under his breath.

Sheppard exhaled. "Right. Thank you."

They joined Ford and Teyla, and Sheppard was pleased to find that they treated him just like they used to, although there were the initial questions about his health, which he brushed off with his usual, "Fine," and some polite chatter, after which he pretended to eat while he let the conversation go on without him. But it got him thinking. He wasn't exactly fine now. What if he never was, or only was able to be okay when he was on medications? Even if the meds got him stable, that'd leave him far from fine. That'd leave him discharged, and that was not "fine". He knew Heightmeyer was looking for a cause to this thing, that she'd thrown out some potential diagnoses, but none of those sat right with him. She was still looking for a root cause, but so was Carson, and that's where he had his hopes pinned. If Carson was able to determine a physical cause, something that could be fixed, then he could stay here. He could keep flying. Maybe he could get his life back.

"So, when can you go back to work?" Ford asked, finishing off the last of his meal and beginning to gather his plates together.

Sheppard smiled. "Won't be long." He speared a ravioli with his fork and popped it into his mouth. And maybe if he believed that strongly enough, it'd be the truth.

x-x

Sheppard woke in darkness. That was weird, he thought. Even in on cloudy nights, the lights of Atlantis itself usually cast enough of a glow through his windows that his room was never completely dark.

Hearing shuffling from nearby, he tensed, then reached for the light. Someone grabbed his hand. He tried to jerk away, but felt someone pull him by the arm, through what felt like fabric, leaving a trail of blankets behind him. Sheppard stumbled and tried to strike out, but missed his attacker in the darkness.

A light flashed on, blinding him, and he heard shouts, voices. He squinted, almost blinded by the flashlights, and he saw a man looming over him, the light glinting off wild eyes. In a sudden movement, the man swung his arm down, striking Sheppard in the side, and then across his ribs. Sheppard felt a flash of pain, then a coldness where the man had touched him. In shock, unable to hold himself up, Sheppard fell.

Sheppard felt warmth along his side, and he curled in around himself on the floor. Numb, he heard someone yelling, and watched the bustle of feet moving across his vision. Something was wrong.

Someone moved in front of him, and Malla's face filled his vision.

"Am I hurt?" he asked, surprised that his voice was so weak.

Malla nodded. "Someone attacked you while we were sleeping," she said. "One of the ill ones."

Sheppard could see that her eyes were scared; in fact she looked somewhat frantic. Oddly calm, he felt someone press something against his side, heard the buzz of voices swirling around him. There was movement behind Malla, but he couldn't make it out.

"I was home," he said.

Malla looked at him strangely.

"How did I get back here?"

"You haven't left yet." She looked up as someone approached. That person knelt beside her, and Sheppard felt more pressure on his side. "We just got back from the market a couple hours ago," she said.

Sheppard tried to nod, but closed his eyes instead. "I'm cold."

He could hear Malla's voice. "You're always cold." He heard her give a choked cry, and he tried to say that everything would be fine, but he heard another voice that sounded like Rodney, calling his name, and he drifted, and dreamed of lights passing overhead, and Rodney's face nearby, and one of Carson's medics. He thought he heard Carson asking what had happened, and Rodney saying he wasn't sure.

Sheppard closed his eyes. The streaking lights were making him dizzy.

The voices started coming clearer.

"We'd been supposed to meet for breakfast, but he was late." That was Rodney, his Canadian accent strong, all rounded vowels and hard "R's", like it got when he was upset. "When he didn't answer the door, I went in. He was standing there, struggling in the dark. By the time I reached him, he was on the floor, bleeding."

"Was there someone in there with him?" That was Carson.

"I didn't see anyone," Rodney answered.

"Could he have done this to himself?"

"I don't see how he could have." That was Rodney again. "I didn't see a weapon. He was just, it's like he was okay one minute, or not okay, but – then the next, he was on the floor bleeding."

Sheppard heard doors open, and Carson's voice calling out. He lost track of the conversation, the words a jumble of sound, noise, and too loud, now. He felt himself tugged sharply and tried to struggle, to push hands away, to get them to stop fussing at him, because he was so tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

He felt a pain so sharp that it made him gasp, and his eyes flashed open.

Rodney was there, standing over him, his face a mask of concern.

He closed his eyes, and there was nothing.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks._


	4. Chapter 4

_Here's the next part. Thanks for all your comments!_

x-x

Something pulled, tugged, and Sheppard reached up, trying to push whatever it was away from his side.

"Shh…"

He opened his eyes, blinking against the dim light. Something was wrong. He tried to push again, and felt gentle hands on his arms.

"It's all right, Major."

He stopped struggling and turned his head to the side to see Carson there, medical dressing in hand. Infirmary, he realised. "What happened?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"We've made an adjustment in your dosage, and you should be feeling better soon," Carson said, his trademark grin missing. The doctor began to work at his side, and Sheppard felt pressure there. "We'll have to take a bit more time with it, hmm?" Carson said, and Sheppard felt the world slide away.

x-x

He was…he was in the infirmary, Sheppard thought slowly. That was the floor, the infirmary's floor, below him, and he was sitting on a bed, staring down at the floor.

Rocking. He was rocking. He tried to stop.

Something was wrong.

He was rocking.

He gripped the edge of the bed, his arms rigid, and forced himself to stop rocking. He felt a tug at his side and let go of the bed, gasping against the sudden pain.

Was he hurt?

There was a voice.

He realised that someone was speaking, so he looked up. Carson and Heightmeyer were standing there, Rodney and Ford beside them. Sheppard tried to concentrate. Ford was asking him something…something about a weapon.

"Where's the weapon?" Ford asked, and Sheppard jumped at the change, the sudden clarity.

"Weapon?" he asked.

Ford said something else, but he didn't understand it. He watched as Ford turned a frustrated look to Rodney.

Rodney took a step forward, and asked, "They want to know if you did this to yourself."

"Did what?"

"Hurt yourself."

Sheppard tried to think, and he started seeing flashes – a man, and blood, and lights, and the infirmary, and…He started shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no," he said, heart beating madly. He felt someone come up beside him, a pinch to his arm, a hand on his back, and he couldn't help it, he closed his eyes.

x-x

He remembered the attack.

Sheppard took in the lights along the ceiling; they seemed to hover over his bed in the infirmary, casting their pale glow across the blanket that someone had pulled over him. The lights were dimmer than usual - Carson must have lowered them while he was sleeping.

He remembered the attack, every detail.

Carefully, gingerly, he pushed himself to sitting, trying not to disturb the bandages on his side. He felt…not fine. Numb, he felt numb.

A thought came, unbidden: maybe he did this to himself.

No, no, that wasn't possible. He closed his eyes, thinking through the details – the attack, Malla there, then the questions from Ford, from Rodney.

If Rodney thought it possible, then…

No.

He sat there a moment, eyes still closed. He tried to stop thinking about it, but found it hard to control the path of his thoughts.

Maybe he did this to himself.

But how? He was better, right? So how had this happened?

It wasn't possible. The man was real. The attack was real. So that meant that this, here, now, wasn't.

He felt…drugged.

Carson had probably upped his meds again, but he felt different this time from when he'd first gone on them. He felt flat now, distant, like he was looking at himself from the outside.

Numb.

Unreal.

Dead, he felt dead.

He'd almost liked it better when he was flicking between realities. At least then he could feel.

Opening his eyes and staring down at his hand, he pinched his arm to see if he could feel it. Then he raked his nails along the skin there, raising red welts.

This isn't working, he thought. He looked around the infirmary for something sharper. Remembering Carson's scalpels in a drawer, he slipped off the bed, bobbling a bit, then shuffled over to the drawer in question. Opening it, he reached inside and removed a knife. He returned to the bed and sat on top of the blankets, legs crossed, and he peeled back the protective packaging on the instrument, revealing the scalpel.

"John, what are you doing?"

His head shot up and he saw Teyla frozen there in the doorway.

Sheppard nodded a greeting at her and said, "Testing."

Teyla took a slow, careful step inside. "Major, please put down the knife."

Sheppard did so.

Teyla moved faster now. Reaching the bed, she took the knife in her hand. Keeping a wary eye on Sheppard, she yelled out, "Carson?"

Sheppard heard bustling from across the room, in the direction of Carson's office. Then the doctor came out, all smiles. He turned serious as he took in the scene and Teyla summarised what she'd seen.

Carson took the knife from Teyla and put it aside. Sheppard watched calmly, only looking away from the doctor's activities when he heard Teyla's voice.

"What were you doing?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Checking."

Teyla frowned, her brow wrinkling. "Checking what?"

"If I could feel it."

Carson pulled Teyla aside, and Sheppard stared down at the red marks he'd made when he'd scratched his arm.

He could hear them talking.

He began scratching at the welts. He saw a hand cover his own, stopping its movement, and he looked up to see Teyla there again.

Teyla's eyes showing her worry despite the calm of her voice. "Carson needs to make another adjustment to your meds."

"Will that make all this real?" Sheppard asked.

Teyla looked at him strangely, then nodded.

Sheppard smiled. "Good."

x-x

Sheppard stood at the window in Carson's office, palm resting flat against the glass. He pressed his hand harder against it. It wasn't until now, this very moment, that he'd even realised this was missing. He could feel the tug of Atlantis itself under the surface of the material, like a soft heat coursing up his arm and filling him with a familiar glow.

With barely a thought, the glass slid open before him, and a rush of ocean breeze swept through his hair, ruffling the papers on Carson's desk behind him. Stepping out onto the balcony, he let the warm air fill him with the scents of home.

It had taken him a little time to find his way clear, until the dreams fell away and he was able to anchor himself to this reality. It helped that, as the latest changes to his medications took effect, his tie to Atlantis became stronger, felt more real, but it wasn't until this point when he'd even realised it had been… well, not gone, but unreal, like this place had been, before.

The changes Carson had made to his medications seemed to be working. Of course, they'd seemed to have worked before.

Eyes unfocused, he stared down at the water far below. He'd been attacked. He'd been sure of it. He'd gone back there again, been there, he'd been so damn sure of it, but now all that felt so distant. Maybe they were right and he had done it to himself. They hadn't found the weapon. What if it was still there, secreted somewhere in his quarters? What if it happened again? Yes, Carson felt sure that this last round of medications was working, but they'd been working before, too. How could the doctor trust that? How could he trust himself?

"Major?"

He gently squeezed the railing, pressing into the hard surface as he leaned out, gazing down into the water below. What if it all came crashing down on him again? What if this never ended? What then? Even if they got him stabilized with medications, no way was the Air Force keeping him in. Once they were able to re-establish contact with Earth, they'd send him home. He'd lose this, all of this, and more. His career was over. They wouldn't let him fly. His life was over.

"Major Sheppard?"

What would he do if he couldn't fly?

"John?"

Sheppard stood straight and turned slowly. Carson was just inside the door of the office, a sheaf of papers bundled in his arms. Face carefully composed but eyes clearly concerned, he took a very slow step forward. "Come inside, John."

Sheppard frowned. Carson was clearly… "Oh, shit," he said aloud before he could stop himself. "No, I'm good, sorry." He stepped back into the room, letting the door slide closed behind him.

Carson eyed him warily. "I'd thought I'd had that locked." He paused as if for effect. "And my office as well."

Sheppard knew he probably looked a bit sheepish. "You probably did, doc. I'm really good at – " He left the rest unsaid, seeing comprehension cross the doctor's face. Carson knew he had a special connection with the city, and it often let him do things that others probably could not. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted a minute alone, and I know I'm not supposed to leave the infirmary, so…" He waved an arm at the window, wincing. He knew that, next chance he got, Carson would be telling Heightmeyer about finding him out on the balcony, assumptions would be made, and he'd have an awful lot of explaining to do.

Carson nodded, eyes still wary, and slid the papers onto his desk. "I'd wanted to see you, anyway. There's something I'd like to discuss. Privately."

Sheppard felt his stomach drop, but he slid into a guest chair without a word.

Rather than sitting in the desk chair, Carson sat beside him in the other guest chair, so they were both on the same side of the desk. "Kate and I have continued looking for the root cause of your illness."

"I know that."

"In your last meeting with her, she told me you'd discussed schizophrenia, and some other possible diagnoses."

Sheppard nodded sharply. He'd purposefully not been thinking of what she'd said.

"We'd thought we'd ruled out physical causes: brain injury, infection and so on. You'd had headaches, but had otherwise shown no signs of infection: no fever or vomiting, no increased white cell count. So I dug through the records of the planet you'd visited on your last mission. Ends up others have reported experiences like yours."

Sheppard nodded, hands clenched to his knees. He knew. Malla had told him. But she hadn't been real. She hadn't been real, so what she'd told him couldn't have been real. He started scratching the arm of the chair with his fingernail, and the leg he'd freed started bouncing. He shook his head sharply. How could it be true? How could he even know if he'd found it out from Malla, and she hadn't been real?

"Working with the physicians planet-side, we started seeing a trend." Carson put one hand on Sheppard's knee, stilling it. "We may have found something."

"What?" Sheppard said, his heart suddenly in his throat.

"We may have found something," Carson repeated.

"You may have – Sheppard cut himself off and stood, going to the window again. Suddenly hot, chest tight, he placed a hand on the cool glass and let his head hang, to better focus on his breathing. "Jesus," he murmured. He inhaled, slowly, carefully, then exhaled.

He heard the creek of the chair as Carson stood, and soft footsteps as the doctor approached. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said. He pushed away from the glass and turned, then leaned back against it, letting it support him. "But you're telling me I might be, right?"

"We'll have to see," Carson said. "But it does give us reason to be hopeful."

Hope, Sheppard thought. That was more than he'd had a few minutes ago.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you to everyone who's been reading, and a special thanks to all those who've left reviews. This, sadly, is the final section. _

x-x

Sheppard lay his outfit out on his desk, checking yet again to be sure he had everything he'd need. He was going back on duty tomorrow and he was actually really freekin' nervous; it had too long since he'd worn the uniform. He patted down a seam, then stepped back to inspect for wrinkles. People might think he didn't care about stuff like that, and maybe normally he didn't so much, but today was different. He was different. Everything was different.

After Carson had figured out what the hell was going on, they'd changed his meds, and his symptoms had slowly abated. He'd tapered off the anti-psychotics, although Carson had then made him wait a full two weeks, medication free, as an evaluation period before the doctor had cleared him for duty. No off world stuff yet, but even this small step was good. It was all good.

Sheppard moved to his closet and removed his boots and a small, black bag. He sat on the floor, pulled his polishing supplies from the bag, and began to work on the boots.

Even now, he was expected to continue daily sessions with Heightmeyer – not quite therapy, more of a, "How's your sanity level today?" meeting, just to make sure that everything was still balanced.

So far, so good on that front. Once they'd realised what was wrong with him, they'd been able to crack that virus – well, maybe it was actually a bacteria, he could never keep that stuff straight – in a matter of days, and Carson had zapped it.

Maybe that was oversimplifying things a bit, because no way did he want to discount the work they went through to figure this thing out. Since treating him, the drugs had also been used on people down on the planet, people who'd been lost, some of them for decades, in a haze of mental illness. All due to something not entirely unlike encephalitis, Carson said, and able to be cured via a combination of human know-how and Ancient tech. Maybe, if they were lucky, Malla and the others –

His hand froze mid-buff. He still couldn't quite believe she'd been a figment of his… whatever, an after-effect of an illness. It had all seemed so real while he was there, and he couldn't imagine that he'd deliberately hurt himself… at least, he didn't think that he could have… He tried to shake the moment off, and kept working. He knew that he'd always wonder. Worse, he suspected that it'd be a while before he wasn't feeling like he was teetering on the edge of something, wondering if he'd slip back.

Better not to think about it, just go on like normal. He snickered, giving his boots a final rub. Normal was a good thing.

His chime went, and he stood and triggered the door. Rodney was there, a large – surprisingly large – bottle in hand.

Sheppard stood there a moment, nonplussed. It wasn't like Rodney normally made social visits.

"Can I come in?"

Sheppard nodded and moved aside, allowing the man to pass.

Rodney waved the bottle, acknowledging the boots, then the uniform with a wave of that arm. "Have time for a drink?"

Sheppard frowned, thinking about Carson's warnings against alcohol so soon in his recovery. "I can't…"

Rodney twisted the bottle so that Sheppard could see it better. "It's iced tea, made from actual Milky Way-type tea bags," he said. "I've been saving them up. Figured your going back on duty deserved a celebration."

Sheppard smiled, appreciating the gesture. "Thank you."

Rodney nodded and sat on the bed while Sheppard moved to the bathroom, returning with two glasses. He joined Rodney on the bed, facing him, and Rodney poured the drinks.

He'd just raised the glass to his lips when his door chime went again, but he merely raised a brow and answered it. Teyla stood there, with Ford just behind her, plate in hand. "John, I…" Teyla started, stopping when her eyes reached Rodney.

She smiled broadly, and Ford said, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah, well," Rodney said, lifting the bottle so they could see it. "Looks like we had the same idea."

Sheppard waved them over. "Join the party; glasses in the bathroom."

As Ford slid the plate onto the desk, Rodney raised his glass in a toast. "To tomorrow - may things go well for you on your first day back."

Sheppard nodded, clicking his glass against Rodney's. "And may my first day back not drive me insane."

Rodney looked at him for a moment, as if trying to check his seriousness, then snickered. "Yeah, yeah," he said. Then he peered at Sheppard. "Hey. Tell me about that place."

"Which place?" Sheppard replied.

"Where you'd go, when…" Rodney swirled a finger near his temple.

Teyla, settled cross-legged on the floor, looked up and said, "Perhaps John does not wish to go into the details."

"No, it's…" Sheppard said, eyes following Ford as he returned to the room and sat beside Teyla on the floor.

As Rodney passed them the bottle, Sheppard took a sip from his own glass, focusing on the tea's bite while he considered how to say what he wanted to without it coming across too crazy. "It felt real," he said in the end.

"In what way?" Teyla asked.

"As real as this," Sheppard said, indicating the room around them. "I was thinking it was kind of like an alternate place, like an entire city existing alongside the real city, but invisible or forgotten or something." His eyes moved to Rodney and he gave him a tight smile. "You know, some place like Boston, an old city, old enough to have a past, to have layers; to have ghosts. Some people can see those ghosts – old buildings, now gone; people that existed… places… gone, but in a way, still there." Not sure that Rodney understood, he continued. "Like when you say I disappeared. I was there, but it was as if I'd become a ghost. You couldn't see me, or, well, you could see me if I, like, stood right in front of you and shouted, but you didn't know who the hell I was. The only people who could really see me were…" he let that trail off into a shrug, not really wanting to talk about Malla and the rest of it.

Ford leaned forward. "Don't think this question is weird, okay?" When Sheppard nodded, Ford lowered his voice. "Do you think it was real?"

Sheppard frowned, swirling the liquid in his glass, staring down at it to buy himself some time to think. Because when he did let himself think about it, and really remember, he…No, no, best not to go down that route. Not wanting to mention his own doubts, he replied, "Carson said…"

"I know what Carson thinks," Ford said, interrupting him. Sheppard's head shot up and their gazes locked. "What do you think?"

Sheppard took a slow, careful breath; he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm…not sure. It was so real. But it can't be." He looked to Rodney and Teyla for…something, agreement, maybe.

Instead, in a quiet voice, Teyla asked, "What about the attack?"

Almost frantically, Sheppard said, "I still can't believe I…" He shook his head, calming himself purposefully. "I don't believe I did that to myself. That's not me."

"I mean, the illness may have caused a chemical imbalance and all that, sure," Ford said. "I'm just…I mean, weirder things have happened out here, right?"

Teyla cocked her head. "Maybe that imbalance allowed you to see into this…other place; to go there, in a way. Just because we couldn't see it, that doesn't mean it wasn't real."

All this time, he'd been trying to convince himself that that other place had been a hallucination. All this time, he'd thought that everyone saw him as crazy, but now…

Ford peered up from where he sat on the floor. "You okay? I didn't mean to mess you up or anything."

Sheppard nodded, unable to speak. He'd been working with Heightmeyer and trying so hard to see that all of it had been in his head, but what if it wasn't? What if it really wasn't? He stared down at his glass. Maybe he wasn't crazy, he thought. Maybe everything that he'd almost convinced himself was an illusion, had actually been real. He noticed that his hand was shaking slightly. He felt a touch on his arm and looked up to see Teyla standing beside him, a concerned expression in her eyes.

"Sorry," Ford said. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

Sheppard nodded without looking at him, and stared down at his glass. No. He couldn't go there. He couldn't start thinking that place was real, because he wasn't sure what believing that would mean. He needed to stay anchored here, because if he didn't –

"Wait," Rodney asked suddenly. "Why Boston?"

Sheppard's head shot up and he stared at Rodney, confused.

"The place," Rodney said. "You said it was like an 'alternate Boston.' Alternate, sure I get, but I mean, why not someplace like New York, or Tokyo, or Las Vegas, or LA, for goodness sakes? Aren't you from California?"

"Ah," Sheppard said, realising that Rodney was trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. Or, somewhat safer ground, anyway. "Hmm…I'm not sure. At the time, remember, not all my synapses were firing in the right directions." He smiled slightly. "It's the connection I made." He shrugged. "I suppose there was something about Boston that reminded me – have you been there?"

"Boston?" Rodney nodded. "Did my PhD at Northeastern."

"The place has a feel to it - like London, a sense of history, of secret places; but smaller, more intimate than London. The place I went, it had that kind of feel." He laughed at the look on Rodney's face. The man obviously didn't know what he meant. Hell, he wasn't sure of what he meant, just that the feel was right – a big city above, old enough to have lost and abandoned places below. Something like that.

Teyla smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're back."

Sheppard laughed. "So am I."

x-x

Sheppard walked quickly, padd in hand, lost in thought. He passed several crewmen in the crowded hall, then felt a tug at his arm. Looking in that direction, he saw Rodney there, seeming concerned.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, sotto voice, pulling him to the side of the corridor.

Sheppard, surprised, answered, "Yes."

"Who are you talking to?" Rodney asked.

Sheppard, at first confused, smiled when he realised to what Rodney had been referring. "No one. I was reviewing the duty roster in my head, and must have been talking to myself."

"You sure?" Rodney asked, still looking worried.

"Yes, sorry," Sheppard said lightly. Seeing the look in his friend's eyes, he softened his tone. "Really, I'm fine."

"Okay," Rodney said, obviously unconvinced.

Sheppard grabbed Rodney's arm, and said, "I did want to say thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For being there while I was…" Sheppard waved his hand in the air vaguely and shrugged. Then he smiled. "And for believing in me, at least enough to…" Lost for words, he shrugged again. "Anyway, thank you."

"You're welcome," Rodney said, all seriousness.

Sheppard was just about to continue on when Rodney held up one finger. "Hold on," he said, grimacing while he dug through his pockets, looking for something. He nodded when he found it, and sliding something small from his pocket, held it out toward Sheppard. "I wasn't sure if you might need this. We found it in your clothing."

Sheppard stared at the small object that Rodney was holding. "When?" he said numbly.

"When you came back from the planet." When Sheppard didn't reach for the item, Rodney asked, "It is yours, right?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said, holding out his hand. Rodney deposited the object into his palm.

Sheppard stared down at it, almost afraid to look any closer. But he shouldn't be afraid. All that back on the planet – being with Malla, her writing on the claim ticket, telling him it was a way for him to go back there, if he needed to – that'd all been in his head. So he shouldn't be seeing that unfamiliar scrawl on the tiny piece of paper, shouldn't recognise the symbols written there in Malla's hand. But he did.

"What is it?" Rodney asked.

"Nothing," Sheppard answered hesitantly. He looked up, met Rodney's eyes, and manufactured a smile. "Nothing I need," he said definitively. He crumpled up the claim ticket and, holding it out from his body, turned on his heel and strode to the nearest balcony.

"Sheppard?"

Opening the door and walking out onto it, he stepped right to the edge and, holding his hand up to the breeze, let the wind take the ticket.

"Sheppard?"

He felt a hand on his arm, but he didn't look away from the ticket until it hit the water below him. As it was swamped by a wave, disappearing into the trough, he felt the tension leaving his neck and shoulders, and finally let out a breath.

"Sheppard, you're not having a 'Boston' moment, are you?"

"No, Rodney," he said, finally facing his friend. He gave him a tight smile. "Just exorcising some memories."

Rodney peered at him carefully, his gaze blatantly evaluating. After a moment, he nodded. "But you'll tell me if you ever…" Rodney dropped his voice, hands flying up nervously. "Um, 'go to Boston', as it were."

"Yes, absolutely," Sheppard replied, matching his friend's tone. And this time when he smiled, it was genuine. "You'll be the first to know."

x-x

End

x-x

_The bit of song Sheppard sings in an early chapter is "Mirror in the Bathroom", by the Beat, or the English Beat as they were known in some places._


End file.
